Prince Vasily Shuisky Describes the Tsarevich’s Wounds

It was in Uglich, veliky gosudar, in the square
you were a wretch, you let the door slam on her
just before the great cathedral
you shouted at the little animal who meant no harm
and the boy with the wisps of golden hair
the shears closed and the bird’s back opened red
like gold wires, like beautiful spun haloes
you never saw far enough to make anyone feel loved
lay as if stunned, with an angelic look
you flung an obscene gesture at some Hyundai’s honest mistake
in his gray-blue eyes, each of his hundred wounds
you shot a robin dead, just to say you’d done it
gaping like a mouth, delicately rouged
you place your order, knowing the fluffy male chicks
saying Boris, Boris, why have you done this to me?
will all be crushed to death, one by merciless one

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